Magically Accidental
by WC43
Summary: Both Harry and Draco really needed to learn that secret, deep-set sexual attractions don’t mix well with magic. Although, if they had, none of the exciting events of that day could have come to pass.


Quickie over the four-day weekend

Quickie over the four-day weekend.

I'm definitely excited, so I'd love opinions!

This is pretty much just for fun, so don't feel bad tearing it apart. I'll fix it, it's not my brain baby or anything. I tried to make it funny, but I kinda lost control of that.

That said, let's do it! Funky really long because I'm having a mind-dump Completely OOC because I can one shot. Rolling.

(Oh, lemony slash, just to warn you. Didn't want to surprise you.)

--

Both Harry and Draco really needed to learn that secret, deep-set sexual attractions don't mix well with magic. Although, if they had, none of the exciting events of that week could have come to pass.

--

Harry hated potions. It was just another class for him to mess up and another excuse for Snape to swoop around angrily behind him, hissing insults and dripping grease. The directions were unclear and hard to follow, the ingredients either all looked the same or were probably dangerous, and the potions were tedious and pointless anyway. Today they were making a licorice-scented toothache cure, or some such nonsense, and Harry really couldn't be bothered to care.

Across the room, Malfoy was dutifully stirring and chopping and juicing bean pods and whatnot, shoving his nose so far up Snape's ass that Harry was surprised he could manage that smarmy grin without getting a bit of lung stuck between his teeth. Harry shook his head and went back to slicing his… whatever they were… into stars so he could dip them in salamander ash and chuck them into his cauldron. He could only hope that his potion would turn the desired shade of mauve, otherwise he was looking at another failing assignment, the trend of the year.

Hermione's potion had made it to the exact shade described, and she was now stirring in mermaid dander while tapping out La Cucaracha on the side of her cauldron. The mauve melted away, replaced by what looked like liquid diamonds, and she grinned, bottling several samples. Ron, next to her, gave Harry a sympathetic look as he added copious amounts of powdered puffskein claw to his own cauldron, causing a rather large explosion that rocked the dungeon and tipped over every cauldron in the room. The contents of these cauldrons proceeded to mingle on the floor, releasing various colorful vapors and, in one case, the scent of licorice.

"I had it, too!" moaned Seamus, who was then silenced by a cloud of mist that had formed into a miniature cloud of falcons, who were now dive-bombing his face.

Snape, who had taken a brief moment out of the room to oil his scalp, returned to a scene of chaos. The potions' mixing had occurred eerily quickly, and the whole classroom had become one swirling mass of colorful liquids and bubbling ingredients being knocked off of shelves by Peeves, who had taken a break from rearranging Filch's file cabinets to come see the excitement.

A surprisingly solid baseball bat made of golden mist was beating Pansy Parkinson over the head, as a hand seemingly sprouted out of a giant cauliflower was tugging on her skirt. Crabbe and Goyle were wrestling a cauldron that had grown teeth and biceps, along with a foul mouth and a charming Scottish accent. Ron's hair was cycling through the rainbow, and Hermione's bra, which seemed to have gotten quite a splash, was now attempting to strangle her. Amidst this chaos, no one noticed a wisp of white sneak up Harry Potter's nose.

Immediately, his eyes were drawn to Draco, who was, at that moment, being slowly cocooned in what appeared to be his own boxers. 'Pink boxers, really?' thought Harry, but, instead of being disgusted, or tempted to laugh, he was rather aroused. More than rather, he revised, as he looked down at what was now an awkward tent in his robes. He cringed, and forced himself to calm down. Never having properly learned silencing spells, the ability to mind over matter one's hormones was really a necessity for a sixteen year old boy living in a room with people prone to mocking you forever.

He shook himself, focusing on the angry professor siphoning up the spilled potions with his wand and scowling. There was nothing less sexy than an angry Snape, thought Harry, who, too late, realized he was grinning like a fool right into the face of the now livid potions master.

"Mister Potter," crooned Snape, "May I ask what it is that you find so… entertaining?"

Not being able to think of a witty response, and 'your grossness' not seeming a viable answer, Harry chose the ever-popular "Nothing, sir," and began righting cauldrons in an attempt to look busy and contrite.

Malfoy chuckled. 'Damn that sexy laugh,' thought Harry, who slapped himself internally. 'What is wrong with you, man?!' he demanded, not really expecting an answer. If he started answering himself, he was seriously in trouble.

The room was soon cleared up, and they all trooped off to their next classes, and Harry was mercifully free of Draco's presence. Snape had been a little peeved at their mess, and so he refused to tell them what may have gone wrong, or how to stop any issues caused by the spill. Hermione resigned herself to going braless for the day, much to Ron's delight, and Harry exerted all his will power to not watch while Malfoy removed his boxers and shoved them into a quill-case. Snape said most effects would wear off within the hour, so he decided he'd just have to have some spine.

'There will be no jumping Draco Malfoy today,' he vowed to himself. 'Or ever!' he added as the thought of a very Draco tomorrow popped into his head. Something was definitely wrong with him. Damn potions.

--

The rest of the morning went along without much of a hitch, and Ron's hair proved very entertaining in the duller of the classes, having moved on from plain colors to patterns and curse words. When lunch rolled around, however, Harry got a rather nasty surprise. There, on his schedule: Double Herbology with Slytherin. He groaned. Ron, who had been offering some Essence of Dittany to Hermione, tragically friction burned from the bra attack, turned to face his friend, clearly irked at the interruption.

"What's wrong, mate?"

"Eh? Nothing. Carry on with your essence rubbing, or whatever," mumbled Harry, who was too busy debating whether or not skipping Herbology was worth it to notice Hermione's dirty chuckle and Ron's furious blush.

"C'mon, Ron," she said, shooting a wink at Harry, "Harry's just in another of his moods. I think I'll need some of that dittany, anyway. I don't want to scar…"

She pulled the scarlet Ron, whose hair was now a nicely coordinated tartan, away through the great hall, and Harry couldn't help but grin. That potion spill had worked out quite nicely for Ron. 'Not quite so well for me,' thought Harry, grimacing. He would just have to tough it out until the potion wore off. There was no way he was going to Snape for help, especially not for this, and it couldn't go on forever, right?

He packed up his things and headed for the greenhouses, steeled and ready to face unbridled lust for his worst enemy. It was some evil twist of fate, or someone had a really cruel sense of humor, for it to have been Malfoy that he wanted so badly. He would've been perfectly fine if it was Cho that he wanted to slide up against a wall and ravish, or even any other female in the school. Hell, he'd have taken Milicent Bulstrode over Malfoy! Or even another guy! He was still uncomfortable with his crazy passions for Malfoy, there being two sausages in that equation, but he'd have gladly lusted after the Weasley twins instead, if it had to be wang.

Deep in these thoughts, Harry trudged along, the spring air caressing his face. 'Spring,' he thought ironically. 'Season of love.' He shook his head and carried on to the greenhouses, thinking about girls and their boobs with all of his strength.

Professor Sprout met the group on the path, leading them to greenhouse 3. "Today," she chirped, "we will be working with Pertubata Ereptum, more commonly known as Risk Wort…" she carried on as they all trailed inside, waving them towards a table of gloves, goggles, and pruning shears. "…You will be removing the leaves, and only the leaves, for use in our school's supply of Sleeping Potions and Calming Elixirs. If you stray too far down the stem, you will be exposed to the recklessness inducing sap of the tree, and dangerous things may happen before we get you the antidote. That being said, begin!"

As Ron and Hermione hadn't yet returned from their Dittany expedition, Harry settled alone at the end of a row, gearing up to begin removing the leaves from what appeared to be a cross between a sunflower and a hedge. He carefully began snipping off the delicate, velvety leaves, forcing all thoughts of Draco out of his mind in the tedium of the work. His concentration, though, was for naught.

As soon as professor Sprout had moved to the end of an aisle, Harry heard someone sidle up behind him. "Quite intent on working today, eh, Potter? I should think foraging for leaves would be a decent career path for you, but this is just sad."

Harry would have liked to punch him, or at least manage an irritated growl, but his body could not do anything but tingle at the proximity of its new favorite person. Harry groaned. "Today is a really bad day for you to be here, Malfoy," he pled, angry at himself for having to beg but knowing that he couldn't make it two class periods with those sexy gray eyes sparkling at him. He cursed potions again. "Please."

"Aww, has Potter learned some manners?" cooed Malfoy. "It's about time you learned to submit to your betters."

The word 'submit' had Harry's hormones swirling in delight, and it was all he could do to keep from bending over and offering himself in the most submissive way possible. He was disgusted with himself. "Malfoy. Leave."

Malfoy had just opened his perfect, rose petal lips to say something snappy when professor Sprout appeared behind him like an angry stump wearing a hat. "Mister Malfoy! Get to work, or it's detentions for the lot of you!"

He went to return to his original seat, but she glared at him until he picked up a pair of shears and settled down next to Harry, the Crabbe and Goyle bookends he was so used to now absent. He snipped angrily, shooting sulky looks at Harry as he did. "Thanks for that, Potter. Now I'm stuck here alone with you."

Harry's potion-possessed half moaned gently at having the great one address him, and the other half wanted to punch him in the face again. "Your own fault, Malfoy, I told you to leave."

Malfoy looked up at Harry's unusually reasonable answer. "What's wrong with you, anyway, Potter? You look like you're about to pass out, or kill someone. Not that you don't always, but…. Eww." He laughed.

Harry frowned at him, although the almost-concern tickled inside his rib cage. "That potion spill did more than fiddle around in your boxers, Malfoy. It's just that I can handle it."

Malfoy made a face. "Whatever, Potter. As long as your tightey whiteys don't come after me, we can just ignore each other for this class. I don't really want to hear what that pathetic face has to say, anyway." To accentuate this statement, he took an extra aggressive clip at his shrub, cutting through the small twig his leaf had been perched upon, and Draco had just enough time to inhale worriedly before the plant unloaded on him in a surprisingly accurate jet of greenish sap.

The entire bush collapsed as its sticky contents unloaded onto the face and torso of the boy in front of it, draining out in one last spurt before the clipped branch visibly shriveled and the rest of the plant snapped back to attention, presumably refilling with goo. Draco, however, was stuck to the floor, eyes wide open under a film of plant ooze. Sprout hurried over, shouting at everyone to remain calm, and for Harry to back away from the dangerous sap.

She summoned several vials and diverted the mess delicately into them, and Draco, who had until this point been stunned, now had a reckless smile spread across his face which even straight Harry had to admit was attractive.

"I could fly, if I jumped off of something high enough…" marveled Draco, and professor Sprout shook her head, up ending a bottle into his open mouth. He sputtered and choked, and the careless gleam disappeared from his eyes. He licked his lips, where, unnoticed by everyone, there had remained one perfect droplet of crystalline sap. He sat up, looking foggy, and professor Sprout smacked him over the back of the head gently.

"Just the leaves, boy!"

He nodded mutely, eyes downcast, and they all headed back to their plants, Harry forcing his eyes away from the delectable sight of the ruffled Draco, who had looked so nice laying on his back. He could feel eyes on his face and he looked up, seeing a frozen Malfoy staring at his face like he'd never seen it before. He felt his blood tingle and move in response, and groaned aloud.

"Oh, god. Not you, too."

Draco jumped, looking disgusted with himself. "What 'me too,' Potter?" he demanded edgily, looking angry and frightened, although he hadn't been able to hide the reaction of his body to Harry's groan,

Harry slid to the floor, head in hands. He knew that look, the one he'd just been given. He'd been doing it all day. "Look, Malfoy. I know that face. That thing in potions made me… loopy, and now it's gotten you too, so neither of us can really be embarrassed. We'll just have to wait it out, and then go back to business as usual. Temporary truce, and all that. At least until I stop wanting to… well, you know."

The thought of what 'they knew' sped through both of their minds, and they both gave a pained grimace. "Dammit, Potter, why does it have to be you?"

"I dunno, Malfoy. Believe me, you're not my first pick for unbridled passion, either."

They chuckled hoarsely, then went back to carefully trimming their shrubs. Harry decided that he wasn't a fan of Herbology, either. Malfoy agreed.

--

Herbology ended without much event, besides a few elbow brushes that almost turned into a snog-a-thon, and Malfoy and Harry beat it the hell out of Herbology and back to their common rooms without any more interaction than an awkward man nod. Harry had almost made it to his dorm to wrap himself up in a blanket when a swarm of Gryffindors swooped down on him. "Harry! You don't look too good. You gonna be alright for the game?"

Harry paled. "Game?"

They stared at him, not sure if he was joking or not. "Tonight, against Slytherin? Don't tell us our champion seeker's forgotten about Quidditch!"

He laughed stiffly. "Ha, yeah. Of course I remember!"

They laughed, too, out of actual mirth, and gave him various punches on the arm and slaps on the back before heading down to the pitch. He groaned and summoned his team robes and broom, trotting to the bathroom to get changed. The game was soon, he remembered now, and he could probably use the distraction. He hopped on the firebolt and sped down to the field, just in time to begin. It was only when he looked across to the other team that he realized that this was a bad idea.

There, equally in shock, was Malfoy, platinum hair shimmering in the sun and pale sapphire eyes glittering like a stormy ocean. Harry shook his head. Since when had be started describing people like that? He mounted his broom, intent on finishing the game quickly so he could go take a nice, cold shower. The other team did as well, and at the whistle they were off.

Draco watched as Harry kicked off, raven hair swishing in the breeze as his eyes narrowed and his focus transferred to the game. The sunlight made his skin shine golden, and his movements in the sky showed just how comfortable he was. He dodged and wove like a bird of prey riding the currents, and even outside of the burning lust Draco found it an admirable sight. A bludger sailed through the air, nearly knocking him off of his broom, and Draco snapped out of his trance and began the search for the snitch. The faster they got this over with the better. Hopefully no one would notice the tension.

He ascended slowly, spiraling around the pitch as he searched for the tiny golden ball fluttering somewhere in the area and trying to calm the tingling in his groin. A broom was not the least conspicuous of places to get a hard on, and he would rather win the game without that sort of distraction. He pushed all thoughts of Harry out of his head and continued his search.

Suddenly, Harry dove, and Draco instinctively followed. They raced downwards together, all sounds drowned out but their own ragged breathing and the flapping of the tiny wings ahead of them. They were almost neck and neck, but Harry was the better flier, and Draco knew it. He was on the team, whether he liked it or not, more for the brooms his father had bought than through his own skill. As Harry's hand closed around the snitch, he sighed, pulling out of the dive sullenly and jumping off his broom, walking towards the showers. The game was over for him. He looked over his shoulder at the confused Potter, glorious triumphant smile fading to a bemused slash, head tilting sideways.

Draco walked towards the team quarters, ready for a delightful after-game lecture by Snape. The Slytherin leader couldn't stand losing to Gryffindor, and after such a short game only Draco could be to blame. The team would be disappointed at the loss, but no one would dare to accuse a Malfoy out loud. Snape would assign him some trivial chore to make the team feel better, and they would all carry on. It was the strength of the team.

In the locker room, everyone was silent. Snape loomed at the end of the rows of benches, glaring down at them all. "That was poorly played, by all of you. You should be ashamed…" Snape's voice droned on, and Draco allowed it to slip into the rear of his consciousness, key words sneaking through occasionally. Draco may not have been fond of his body doing these things to him, but he had to admit, Potter was probably worthy of the attention.

He had begun school as a scraggly little thing, but nowadays he had filled out. Wiry muscles from Quidditch defined his legs and arms, and Draco assumed there would be some serious abs below those baggy robes. Even beyond the muscle, though, there was a certain something about the way the soft gold of Harry's skin contrasted with the ebony of his hair and the emeralds laid down beneath those sooty lashes. He was poetry, decided Draco. A walking work of art.

"Mister Malfoy," came Snape's cool voice, breaking through Draco's train of thought. Draco shook his head, clearing all thoughts of Potter from his head before allowing the potions master's eyes to pierce his.

"You are to remain here while the rest of your team showers, and the Gryffindors, before you are allowed to take yours. While you wait, you will clean and organize all of the equipment, and, once you have finished that, you will busy yourself with whatever other chores you can find. Am I clear?"

Draco nodded. He knew he wouldn't really have to clean anything, and that this punishment was merely a formality, but the thought of labor to distract his thoughts pleased him. Their team left, still grumbling, and Draco set to work, the time passing quickly before he heard the Slytherins pass by on their way back to the castle. It wasn't long before he heard the Gryffindors head in for their showers, and they left soon enough, voices echoing across the pitch as they reenacted the game.

Draco put his wand back inside his robes, surprised at the amount of work he had gotten done. He smiled a little and headed to the showers, loosening his robe as he stepped into the outer room. Undressing quickly, ready to wash the almost-dry sweat from his skin, he strode into the steamy room and froze.

Harry turned around just in time to see a nude Draco Malfoy strutting through the door, and their eyes locked as they both realized who the other was. Harry's soap-coated hand, which had been scrubbing his chest, curled into a claw as his body reacted to the other boy's presence, and he could see Draco doing the same. The steam of the shower floated across the space between them, fading their lines but not entirely managing to hide their bodies' reactions to each other. They both groaned.

"How do we always manage to get in these situations?" moaned Harry, voice much raspier than he had intended.

"No idea," gritted out Malfoy, who seemed to have lost the ability to breathe.

In the silence that followed, they each took time to secretly admire the other's body. Harry had never gotten beyond the scrawny, ferrety little snob he had met in Madame Malkin's, but the man in front of him was far beyond that. His soft alabaster skin was glowing a little in the light, and his muscles rippled under the taut skin. Following a friendly droplet of condensed steam, Harry's eyes wandered downwards, down a golden happy trail to a sight that made him harden further than anything ever had.

At the sight of Harry's already rather intimidating cock swelling further, Draco gasped, and his own twitched in response, ready to get down to business. He choked a little, his mouth going dry as every fluid in his body focused on matching the beautiful appendage in front of his eyes. Jutting proudly from a nest of soft, dark hair, it seemed so perfect that Draco very nearly came just looking at it.

"I think…" panted Harry, and Draco looked up to see the complete lust and utter surrender on the beautiful face of his once-foe, "that this is going to be really… hard to resist."

Draco nodded, clearing the cotton from his throat to speak. "I don't think I can leave, having seen you here, like this."

Harry laughed. "I've been trying to convince myself to, but you're right, I can't. Well, you might as well take your shower, at least. Maybe whatever's got me hooked will be alright with watching you bathe."

Blushing at the thought of those emerald orbs roaming his body, but not willing to chicken out, Draco stepped forward, tapping a handle that let loose a jet of deliciously warm water across his face and chest. Harry groaned, and Draco turned to look at him.

Harry had thought he would be able to watch Draco bathe without having any issues, as he'd seen many other boys shower before and hadn't found anything other than the usual curiosity about his body compared to theirs. This, though, was like sweet torture, and before he knew it his head had fallen back and his hand had slid down his hip to his pulsing shaft, gripping it firmly and trying to finish what the delectable boy in front of him had started.

He pulled at himself frantically, not caring that Draco could see, for he knew that his new ally knew exactly how he felt. He did not expect, however, a new warmth at his back and a second hand around his member. He turned, foggy eyed, to look at Draco.

"It won't let me let you do this alone," whispered the Slytherin in his Gryffindor's ear, and his hips bucked against Harry's rear as he gently stroked the throbbing dick in his hand, another hand coming around to cup his pet's balls. Head falling onto Draco's shoulder, Harry moaned into Draco's neck, sending shivers down both boys' spines, and spun around, shaking himself free of his partner's tantalizing grip.

"First, we get what you came here for over with," he grunted, slamming Draco into the wall underneath the spigot and letting the water rush over them both. A bar of soap appeared in his hand, and he ran it sensually over the other boy's body before casting it aside, lathering Draco with his hands. The slick motion carried him over places Draco had never even considered to be sensual; his calves, his arms, his feet, but soon reached the erogenous zones that Draco so wanted him to touch. Soapy fingers caressed nipples and thighs, dancing through the light forest of Draco's groin before seizing his cock and giving it a squeeze.

They both groaned, and Draco decided to take control. He rolled Harry over so that he had him pinned against the wall this time, attacking his lips with a furious kiss that seared their souls and left them both bruised and needing. Harry, however, pulled away.

"Not done," he panted, and then his magic hands reached Draco's long, silky hair, lathering in a shampoo that smelled distinctly of Harry himself. The motion pulled them closer, pelvises brushing against each other and bringing both boys immense pleasure. Soon, the shampoo was forgotten, washing away under the streams which drowned out their deep gasps and moans.

They slid to the floor, Harry panting against Draco's chest as the blonde opened his legs to him. Harry looked him in the eyes. "Are you sure?"

Draco sobered, the lust clearing from his eyes as he looked up at Harry. "Yes. I don't even care if this is some potion or plant anymore, just some giant coincidence or a plot of fate. I want you."

Harry nodded somberly. "That was… poetic."

Grinning, Draco reached up and pulled Harry's face down to his. "I've been thinking about this all day. And don't tell me you haven't been feeling wordier since this all began. What the hell kind of normal bloke says 'orbs' instead of eyes? And I've thought of a billion different adjectives for your hair alone. I'm just rolling with it."

Returning the grin, Harry kissed the boy beneath him. "Yeah, I think I referred to your hair as 'platinum silk' or something, in my mind. But it sounds pretty sexy coming out of your mouth…"

Draco laughed, all innocence gone. "Does it, my emerald-eyed Adonis?"

Harry nodded mutely, kissing slowly down Draco's jaw and onto his neck to show his appreciation. The Slytherin moaned, and wrapped his legs around his partner's waist, pulling him almost inside his entrance. "Plus, I doubt I'll be bottoming in the next half hour, the way things are going."

Harry's smile was like a glittering first snow, white and clean and made of joy. His hand slid down to prepare Draco for what was about to happen, and soon the blonde was writing at his fingertips, ready to take everything the Gryffindor offered. As Harry thrust inside of him, they both closed their eyes and allowed the waves of passion to wash over them, pulling them along and shimmering above them as they crested as one.

Lying spent on the surprisingly soft marble floor of the shower, water still washing over them, cleansing their bodies of their first experience together, the couple was content. Kisses were laid on all body parts within reach, and the pair of athletes were quick in regaining their stamina. Rolling and entwining on any and every surface they could reach.

It fell dark, soon, and the lovers joined under the moonlight, finally falling asleep under the great tree by the lake. Around them, the magic that steeped the castle and its grounds was calm as well. It had seen the connection between the two wizards, and had taken matters into its own hands, now able to rest in a job well done. Spreading itself like a comforting blanket across the pair beneath the tree, it sighed with the tinkling of a spring breeze. Love was such a magical thing.

--

R's & R's would be excellent.

I liked it, though, and I hope you do, too!

--

**Alternate Ending!**

Courtesy of Todd, who is now technically my beta (Which is a bit like the fanfic version of "bitch", isn't it?)

Anyway, this less-mushy version starts at the asterisks I've placed up there in the story, and again down here just to remind you! Convenient, I know.

Draco and Harry fell to the floor, calmed by their release from the tension that had been building between them all day and, they realized, for most of their school career. Draco slid a hand around his dark-haired lover, flipping him on his side so the pale hands could work out the knots from a strenuous game of quidditch and an even more strenuous tryst.

And then, as Draco massaged Harry's supple body in the bathroom, with a creak, the door flipped open. Startled upon what he had found, Snape pondered what to do about the situation that lay in front of him...

Especially as he was in a bathrobe.

He thought about it. There was either

a) Allow two of his students to disgrace the name of Hogwarts by canoodling in the showers, due to his affinity for fluffy, pink, knee-high bathrobes

or

b) Allow students to see him in said bathrobe, and have to figure out a good enough punishment that they would never talk about this situation ever again.

Before he could make this decision, however, a blast of red light knocked him off his feet, slamming him into the wall by the entrance.

"Eww, his bathrobe fell open!" hollered Harry.

"Cha, try living in Slytherin. He actually thinks he's being sneaky about it." muttered Draco, rummaging reluctantly in the unconscious teacher's pockets. He laughed triumphantly and pulled out a key ring.

"Hey, fancy a go in the dungeons?"

"What'll we do about him?"

"Eh, we could lock him up while we're down there, keep an eye on the slimy git."

Harry looked up at Draco with a look of utmost adoration. Food may have been the way to most men's hearts, but the road to Harry's lay in dissing Snape.

He attacked Draco's mouth, shoving him up against the wall in a fever of passion. Draco spun him around, pressing him against the wall as their once-again-hard cocks rubbed against each other in a frission of delight.

"Does this turn you on, Harry? Thinking he could wake up any moment and catch us having sex?" asked Draco, his voice deep and gravelly. "Because it's definitely turning me on."

Harry nodded and grinned, allowing the blonde more access. Things certainly got sexier as this night went on, he thought.

And they certainly did.

The boys had a wonderful time late into the night, and when Snape awoke the next morning, strapped to the ceiling in his office, he smelled suspiciously of someone else's sex. He groaned. Damn bathrobe.

fin


End file.
